Friends And Enemies
by FluffySpook
Summary: Harry based angsty fic, focusing on the enquiry with a bit of fluff thrown in for good measure. 10.1 speculation so spoilers for 9.8. I'm no good at summaries. Please don't let this put you off.
1. Chapter 1

_**Season 10 speculation thus spoilers for 9.8. Unlikely and adventurous... but isn't that what fic's for? :) In all other Enquiry based fic, Harry has been put under surveillance at home. The whole point of this fic is the fact that he hasn't. **_

_**Hope you enjoy! **_

Ruth likened Section D to chess pieces, or plastic toy soldiers perhaps. Despite everything, she found herself and her colleagues easily trodden upon by commanders with assumed authority who bulldozed over the Grid recklessly. She never once fought a battle emerging victorious. In Harry's absence the job had become impossible. The enquiry brought with it an abrupt sense of vulnerability and, like acid, it began to erode her and her friends bit by bit. Even Dimitri – who she was certain had no faint personal affections towards his boss – became angered when Harry's office was cleared of his desk and private belongings.

They sat at their computers pretending to work for over a week. On several separate occasions, everyone had demanded they be told where Harry was being held. Beth got the closest when one man replied 'a detention centre,' but never elaborated.

Alec quickly admitted he was surprised by the forceful nature of the enquiry, stating he had never encountered such efficient and discourteous action as a result of a Head of Section being placed under investigation. The abhorrence he felt was evident in his expression every time he threw a scowl to the guards dotted around the Grid.

Ruth took it for granted that Dimitri, Beth, Tariq and Alec had come to learn Harry's reasoning for surrendering Albany. They never questioned it. And like accomplished spies, they pretended they were unaware of the fractured love affair between their boss and their intelligence analyst.

They worked quietly, uncomfortably, with different versions of Harry's current state playing out in their minds. The Home Secutary had graciously informed them that they would be allowed contact soon – his words came as water to a desert. It gave Ruth the smallest, faintest string of hope that she held onto as if it were life itself. Everyone knew the enquiry made little sense so far but no-one retained the authority to change it.

The day after Lucas had jumped, Harry had been taken blind from his house in the early hours of the morning. He knew without a doubt it was the enquiry, but pondered over the brutal nature of what felt more like kidnap than anything else.

With no offered explanation he was driven to a prison like centre decorated with burly army officials and barbed wire in every direction he dared to look. He was aware that high state prisons required elevated levels of security, but at the same time, couldn't see how he posed a threat to anyone anymore. One man spoke to him without introducing his name despite knowing everything there was to know about his prisoner. He lead Harry (and several guards) into a small white stone room illuminated by harsh florescent light. Here, Harry was forced to strip before being handed a grey jumpsuit that didn't fit properly and offered an insultingly small glass of water.

Everything he said was ignored. The procedure was clear cut and every officer knew their place and jurisdiction. Harry was told he would be taken to 'Ernest' who would show him to his cell. With cuffed wrists, he was escorted down a short brightly lit corridor before being abandoned with a beast of a man sporting short dark hair and substantially muscular arms. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked particularly out of place in the prison like surrounding. He stood rigid by a cell door with a key held loosely in one hand.

"Ah, and you must be my newest enemy." Harry smiled, "Ernest isn't it? It's good to put a name to a face. I'd shake your hand, but err..." their eyes simultaneously dropped to the cuffs biting his wrists.

"You won't get out of this alive Pearce." Ernest growled with swirling eyes. He knew of the future. He knew the price his onlooker would be paying within hours yet hid everything except a scornful look of odium from his expression. "You know that though, don't you."

"Oh please. I knew as soon as Ruth was kidnapped it was over for me. You can't hurt me now, let's be honest. Everything was over long before any of this," he acknowledged the building around them. The stone walls craving art and paint, the silence hanging thick down the walkway that faded to a murky mix of dusty air and darkness. Ernest kept his eyes shadowed by his frown, watching Harry for anything enigmatic or unexpected. It took a long moment before he realised the spook had truly - in his heart and soul - given up and decided upon embracing his future. He had nothing left to give or loose, he was as open and ready to be burned.

"You're not frightened?" Ernest almost smiled as he spoke but his strong frown quashed most of his curiosity before it became apparent. Harry smirked.

"Why would I be frightened?"

"You know nothing of what is to come? You don't even know who I am."

"I know exactly what's to come. Knowledge overrules anticipation Ernest. You're going to keep me in this cell until some obscure higher corporation decides my future for me. Death or deportation. Hopefully the latter. With regard to who _you_ are, am I to presume you're my interrogator? Though you look more like a man built for inflicting physical pain rather than psychological interrogation."

The larger man paused and scrutinised every inch of the prisoners face. "It is not my decision to determine your fate, whether you're to be torture or not."

"Of course not. If instructed, however, I've no doubt you _will_ torture me. We both know that."

"It is my job, an aspect of my duty to my country."

Harry laughed.

"Yes." His eyes clouded, he briefly saw his life before him in watercolour appearing slowly on the bland wall ahead. "I had a duty to my country once and look where _I_ ended up."

At the remark Ernest felt a single atom of his integrity falter and he knew, trained as a machine, he had to remove himself from the situation at the risk of experiencing remorse. In a single notion he pushed Harry to one side and unlocked the prison door to swing open and reveal a metal white and grey hell. Then he turned and with a firm hand seized Harry's bicep before forcing him into solitude, smashing the door closed for the last word.

And when he was sure no-one was present to observe, Harry regressed slowly onto the cold hard mattress and began to weep.

_**More soon, if you'd like. If not, I'll go migrate to Yugoslavia. **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you for every single review.**_

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Ruth was summoned to the Home Secretary's office minutes after arriving on the Grid prepared for another lonesome dark day. Intrigued, she left with a 'good luck' from Beth but nervous as to how much the Home Secutary knew of her relationship with Harry.

It soon became apparent; he knew everything. It was in fact the very reason he had asked Ruth to join him.

"How are you?" he asked cordially after she was seated opposite. He sat back in his chair – proving he was open, aware of her distress and not a threat in any form despite briefly appearing in control of the enquiry.

"I err, I'm very..." She hadn't realised until that moment that she had never physically voiced her emotional state to anyone. "I'm very nervous."

To her surprise, he nodded sincerely. "For Harry no doubt."

"Of course."

"Hmm." With a drooped gaze, he leant forward and folded his arms on the table. She watched, rigid, noting his change in stance and began to dread his next words. But he smiled softly. "Ruth, I know why Harry gave away Albany. I doubt I'm as angry as you, and I'm certain I'm less surprised. While it's obviously none of my business where you two stand in regard to each other on a personal level - "

"That's a very sophisticated way of saying you know Harry and I are in love with each other,

Home Secretary."

What she said, she said with a smile because his confident features told her he was to be regarded as a friend and nothing less. He did in fact laugh with her as if the confirmation had shed some light on the dark circumstance; showing there was hope to be found in the mix of apprehension and injustice.

"Yes, well," he nodded, "I didn't want to be too blunt."

"It's fine. I just need to know if he's ok."

"He's being held in a detention centre near Sanderstead. It's been difficult, but I've arranged for him to be allowed one visitor for this week and they've passed my request. He wasn't supposed to be permitted contact so by allowing you access Ruth, I have to trust that you wont try anything clever. Don't try and arrange an escape. Don't inform him of current operations, anything like that. I'm trusting you because I trusted him; I can't see him ever falling for someone dishonest."

She felt a tear swell but forced it backwards with a tough swallow and a sharp nod. "Thank you Home Secretary... thank you. Very much."

The time alone had been tedious, to say the least. As soon as his meals became the highlight of his day Harry knew he ought to ask to be moved in fear of going insane. There had been no torture or integration. There had been quite literally nothing but fleeting visits from Ernest to deliver food. Each night he'd dreamed splintered dreams of Ruth, of Lucas, even of Ros at one point. In his waking moments he'd consider why he hadn't just been placed under surveillance at home; what threat was he to anyone?

When the door openly slowly at around ten o'clock, Harry was lying on the bed with his back to his onlooker. He didn't bother acknowledging the company at all, presuming it was Ernest. So when she spoke, he jerked his head round so fast she was surprised he didn't snap his neck.

"Ruth?" He sat bolt upright before standing as the door was closed on them. It was obvious that the smile she wore was forced as she took in his alien appearance.

The jumpsuit was too small, it clung to his body like wet clothes and she could see where he'd left the neck zip wide open for comfort. He had no shoes; this made her frown as the floor was harsh concrete and probably cold. The stubble lining his lower face was unfamiliar and added to the overall impression of his drained look, but his eyes however seemed unchanged. Glistening brown as they watched her pad forward, just as she remembered.

Before she had a chance to draw a conclusion on what she'd seen, he embraced her. He held her as if frightened to let go and in turn she slid her arms around his waist, pulling his bulk to her smaller frame. They stood frozen together for a long moment before parting when she lifted a hand to his cheek without speaking, letting the foreign feel of unshaven skin prickle her hand.

"It's so good to see you." He smiled at his candid words, unable to help them spilling from his mouth. "How are you? How's the team? How are you coping?"

Initially she leapt to say, 'fine', as the default reply of the British population. He could see in her eyes that she was anything but fine, and she read exactly the same in his.

"I'm tired." She replied frankly. "Not well, I don't think. But that's nothing compared to you; it's good to see you, and no offence Harry but... you look like death."

He laughed what she thought was a nervous laugh before shrinking into himself slightly with a heavy, accepting sigh. His eyelids drooped lazily, in fact his whole stance looked as if it would give at any moment. So she notioned to the bed and they sat down together an inch apart.

"I haven't been doing anything for days," he explained remorsefully as the ground fell under his recollecting gaze. "This isn't what I'd call an enquiry. I haven't been spoken to."

"What, not at all? No-one?" She scowled and pictured the chaos on the grid - a false impression? A smokescreen?

He continued. "I was told yesterday that my fate was being discussed and they were nearly ready to speak to me. It's been nearly two weeks now. What the hell are they discussing that's so time consuming?"

It suddenly made sense why he looked tired despite being physically rested; he had been mulling over the enquiry just as much – if not more – as she had. He'd been anxious and uncomfortable and she doubted sincerely he had been graced with a single full night's sleep.

"We're all wondering exactly the same," she replied, "I thought with things like this, you'd be suspended at home under surveillance."

"I need to speak to whoever's in running this. My guard, Ernest, the man you spoke to outside; he hinted there'd be torture involved."

She spluttered violently, eyes suddenly large and alert. "_Torture!_ What? No-one's said anything about torture!"

"Ruth," his hand found her leg and settled there to still her, "Calm down. That was over a week ago. I think he was just trying to soften me up - "

"Soften you up for _what_?" She stood, he stared. "Harry I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I think the Home Secretary knows who's in charge and he's not telling us." The sudden sound of the metal door being tugged silenced her before she leant to him, closely, and kissed him. "I'll find out for you." She whispered as he stared dumbfounded. "I'll find out what's going on and when I come back tomor - "

"Miss Evershed." Ernest stomped into the room, placing himself between the two spooks and taking her arm without restraint. "I have to ask you to leave now. Please."

She didn't acknowledge him with so much as a struggle or a glance. A dense silence kept the three pairs of eyes burning into one anther before Harry stood swiftly and pressured their lips together, kissing her like she'd just kissed him with zealous passion. They heard Ernest snarl before he yanked Ruth's arm and tore her from the heartfelt reassurance they had suddenly found so easily. She dared speak, amazed as well as furious... somewhat blind. The door was slammed again and she was dragged away. Harry lingered in a daze gazing at the glass and his reflection, seeing himself as the man five years ago left forsaken at the dock.

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_**Reviews would be lovely if you have a spare moment.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thanks everyone! Sorry, this is a short chapter. Chapter 4 will be longer.**_

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"How is he?"

Beth had magnetised to Ruth's desk the second she returned to the Grid. It warmed her to know the team were so concerned. Different people from the time of his original suspension six years ago – yet somehow, the loyalty that had flowered was identical. The fiery compassion that had fuelled Zaf's and Adam's actions to defend their boss was none too different to the concern she saw in Beth, Tariq's and Dimitri's.

She sat down and turned her computer on. Beth perched on her desk, alert.

"If I'm honest Beth, he looks... tired." _Lonely_.

"Tired?" She scowled, as Ruth had done on encounter. "What's he been doing?"

"Well, erm, nothing actually." Then they both frowned further. "He's being kept in a prison. The room's tiny, cold, his guard's a ruthless brute and he's been threatened with torture."

Alec sailed into view having overheard. His forehead crinkled with theirs as he took position opposite.

"Torture? Sorry – what?"

"He hasn't _been_ tortured," she clarified whilst silently thankful; a thought clearly reflected in their faces, "But he said his guard had mentioned it. I saw him for literally a minute or two; they were quick to get rid of me." The looks exchanged decided whether or not she speak her next thought. "I think something's wrong... and we need to find out what it is. No-one knows who's in charge of this whole ordeal."

Beth nodded, her sharp eyes conversing a patriotism for Harry Ruth actually felt privileged to watch. They were united in that moment, she saw it. "Ok."

Alec went to speak but Dimitri paced over and thrust a piece of a paper at them suddenly, standing confused, stating, "Do you recognise this woman?"

Beth and Alec scanned it and immediately dismissed it.

Ruth stared – swallowed – and felt the punch lurch out in the pit of her stomach.

"Dimitri... wh - "

"She's the woman running the enquiry."

Everyone fell silent, six eyes locked at Ruth. Feeling the air change, as her pupils dilated, her face drained. Beth leant in and asked gently,

"Ruth, who is she?"

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Over an hour since Ruth had been snatched from him, Harry was still reminiscing. He found that if he stared at a blank wall long enough pictures would begin to form from the bland surface. It was one of the first stages of insanity but for some reason he couldn't comprehend, he embraced it as long as he could still see her face.

The door opened, he ignored it. Ernest strode in but he was attentively followed by two other men not dressed in suits but black. Just black. There was no food tray. Nothing but their looming forms as they stood before him as Ernest commanded his prisoner to stand.

Reluctantly, Harry brought himself to his feet making sure to retain his look of disgust and annoyance. He read something Ernest's face, his posture, but before he clarified what he dreaded, one of the darker men lurched forward and planted a solid fist into Harry's stomach. They let him crumble with a scream – completely indifferent – before hammering a boot to the same place, relishing the cry of an innocent, then forced him to his feet.

He couldn't stand, but that didn't stop them. Blinded by such unexpected pain, they took an arm each and dragged him from the cell. Ernest lead his officers and the spluttering spook left down a longer corridor, up a lift, to a floor more decorated and reflecting much the design of a fine hotel. Harry likened his thoughts to butterflies; he could not collect them and they were too detailed to understand. He felt wholly vulnerable. Nothing was said except a barked '_shut up!_' from the officer who had beaten him before they arrived at an unnumbered door.

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_**To be continued.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Your reveiws are incredibly encourgaing, thank you so much. It's interesting what a lot of you have predicted :)**_

_**M rated for language. GAHHH the underline thing isn't working again! **_

Ernest knocked and after hearing the faint 'enter' from within, he turned the handle and the two guards dissipated as if they were forbidden to look inside. Harry's body fell feebly against Ernest and – much to his relief as well as surprise – Ernest held him awkwardly. They shuffled into the gloomy room decorated in polished oak furnisher, the warmth striking him like lightening. His body was so adapt to the cold, he felt the skin under the jumpsuit tingle in the apparently humid air. A chair and desk stood adjacently opposite, with a smartly dressed woman posed professionally behind it as Harry fell under her glare. In the second he went to meet eyes with his onlooker, Ernest hoisted the spooks already limp body upwards and thrust his right knee into the soft stomach.

The monster left as quickly as he first appeared. Nothing but a security figure, and built 'more so for inflicting physical pain rather than psychological interrogation' - just as Harry had said. He lay convulsing trying to curl into himself on the floor after the last forceful blow – unable to stand, to talk, to realise his company.

The woman held an eerily mute gaze as Harry gingerly began to quieten after some time, and lay on his back, massaging the pain with a flaccid hand and tightly screwed eyes. His breathing still expeditious and heavy, the blood thundered through his torso and danced around his head forcing an overwhelming sensation of nausea. In an attempt to sit, he threw up instead.

Admittedly that made him feel better. The material strained under the tugging of his trembling body, before he stopped coughing and crawled away from the vomit. Still, his observer said nothing despite the look of utter repulsion dusted over her distinguished features. After the display, he finally found the strength to lift his head. Their eyes locked. When she smiled, his face fell.

"Oh shit."

Again, his heartbeat pulsated at impossible speeds. She nodded to a seat the other side of her unnecessarily large desk. With much struggling, he tumbled over and collapsed into it. Even in the gloom she held an air made to stand under.

"It's good to see you again Harry." She spoke in a sarcastic, denigrating tone.

In a raspy aggrieved voice he dared to acknowledge her greeting with a reply. "I'd say the same to you, but given the situation, it's probably not a good thing that you're here." He let his head sink to chest, not remotely interested in what she had to say.

She prodded, "How about _'nice to see you too Juliet'?"_

"How about not?"

Her thin smiled stretched.

"Your mind's still as sharp as ever I see," she commented with no particular hint of distaste. He didn't bother raising an eyebrow at the words. His hand sensitively pressured the flesh of his stomach, trying to either massage or shift the focus of pain that had settled in its centre. He scowled as the agony slithered to his back and hips.

Despite herself, Juliet knew she hated the sorrow misting his hazel eyes. She knew him - in general - as a good person. Taking a deep breath, she watched his battered figure accepting defeat; not only his expression but his sloppy bulk drooped in front of her screamed signs of retreat.

"I'm sorry about the beating Harry."

He almost laughed. "What?"

"I agree it was unnecessary."

"Then why order it?"

She paused. He'd often made her pause.

"I had to be sure you weren't a threat. I needed us to be alone for this little chat, and I needed to be confident in my own safety."

With darkened eyes he stared, before snapping the contact like ice.

"Fuck off Juliet."

At that, she stood enraged and paced over to his position. With eyes at the floor, he presumed her to kneel to his level and spit vicious insults with the sternest voice he had ever known and never forgotten. But she took it further, clenching a fist he didn't notice, and thumped him in the stomach. _Yet again_. The total raging anguish exploded once more sending the physical pain to sound, he shrieked, held himself with firmly gritted teeth. Seething, doubled over and struggling to stay on the chair he craned his neck to meet Juliet's stare; as intense as the jab now reignited in his abdomen.

She did not spare a pause or flash of regret for his awful discomfort. It seemed as if her sole aim was to silence him, and partially she had succeeded in that; his groaning provided little more than a solemn reply for her explanation that followed.

He did not comprehend the rapid changes in her mood. Almost apologetic before altering to sheer inhumanity. In truth he had never understood her. It was if her past extreme's had become her norms now.

"I'm doing you a favour." She spat.

He spluttered, eyes watery. "By... punching me... in the stomach? Sorry... am I missing something here?"

"Harry, you have to understand; the enquiry want to extradite you. They've pretty much decided already." She retreated in her harshness slightly before adding, "I've personally endeavoured to ensure you stay within MI5."

She waited for the words to accumulate in his mind, and when they finally did, some pain evaporated in his expression. It was however substituted for unfathomable bewilderment.

"Juliet..." he groaned, still huddled into himself, "I don't understand. How... why?" Then he sudden gazed deadpan. "What's in it for you."

She laughed faintly and resumed her seat. All of this surprised him beyond comment.

"I wanted to say you know me too well, but I swear to you, there's nothing in this for me Harry. After Yelta I separated myself completely from the organisation, but still retained some of my authority over the people that remembered me. Those who knew me appeared more than welcome to ask me back. I worked with various committee's, boards, whatever you like to call them and eventually ended up consulting the JIC on an unrelated matter at the same time news flooded the services of the Albany affair. In hearing you were involved, I was asked initially to keep a distance. But soon the enquiry asked to consult someone who had known you in the past; I was that ideal someone. The Home Secretary, whom I'd never met prior to this who event, asked me if I'd be willing to defend you and work alongside him. So I had to make a choice."

"And you chose to help me?"

"Like I said, I apologise for the beatings and – also – I apologise for the prison confinement. It's for the greater good believe it or not, you're benefit. We're keeping you safe here."

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_**Looks like most of your were right. Juliet. Is. Back.**_

_**More soon.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you for the amazing reviews everyone. They really do mean a lot.**_

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In silence he waited patiently for a natural subconscious reaction because a _true_ understanding of everything he'd just heard was definitely impossible. The keen eyes of his apparent saviour read this surprise which flowered in a smile. There had been no reunion greeting because, between them, their eyes would tell more than words were capable of.

He thought briefly if the reaction should be one of gratitude. Then he considered asking her to repeat her explanation, before finally accepting that maybe it was true. _Despite the outburst, she could indeed have told the truth._

"You're in control of this?" He ended up moving on, pushing for more like a spy ought to. (The personal relation underlying the words had not once gone unnoticed however).

She nodded and answered proudly. "I am here, yes."

"I don't understand why..." he shifted and winced simultaneously. "The last time I saw you, you'd crashed a network of American satellites, 'killed' Ros and left me for dead. Despite our past, we were enemies. Why are you defending me now?"

"My honest answer is that I truly thought what you did was... admirable."

The sanity level span out of control. In a frenzied mix of emotions he didn't know whether to laugh or shout.

"Admirable! You do know what I did Juliet?"

"Of course I do. An 'act of passion' no less. Giving up a state secret for the one you love-"

"Where's the admiration in that?"

It was if she had a prepared script; never caught off guard, never openly shocked. "I suppose it's difficult for you. To see it through a woman's eyes. They say actions speak louder than words." She paused and reflected on the fact that he was still frowning, "What did Ruth say? Did she condemn you for it?"

"Ruth?"

"Evershed. Yes."

He broke the eye contact, highlighting how strong it had suddenly become. At her name, his face had concealed with what she read as sorrow but he felt as regret.

"She didn't understand." He finally croaked. "Well, she did, but she wouldn't accept it. Why?"

"Did you ever get your act together with her? Or do you still ponder the possibility alone every night in the hope someone else will find the solution for you?"

He hated the fact that she was right. In pulling away his eyes, he decided not to tell her of the proposal.

"Juliet how do you even know..." he trailed off.

"Know what?"

Neither finished the sentence or verbally resolved the question. The territory would never truly be dangerous between them, but still, she could tell he had become even more uneasy at hearing Ruth's name.

A loud stillness settled between them, he felt it pressure her to move on and explain. She took the large jug of water from the right of her desk and poured him glass. Initially he hesitated in accepting it. Even when he did finally take it from her hands, he didn't drink it. She laughed.

"Bless you Harry. It's not poisoned for God's sake."

Most of what he drank he had to force down his throat through a painful splutter as the cold liquid collided with the internally bruised body. Though he wasn't embarrassed because it was no fault of his own, she quickly let any feeling of odium evaporate at the sight of his helplessness. With a muted 'thank you', he handed back the glass which she refilled for him to accept both surprised and impressed.

"So," he said, "Care to explain why I'm in a prison instead of at home, and what the ultimate plan is?"

As he took another awkward sip of the water, he relaxed back slightly but still one hand rested on his stomach, contracting into his flesh periodically.

"You're here as a result of the Louis Curvin case."

And immediately, he smiled. He knew.

"The people involved in this enquiry knew there'd be little point in placing you under surveillance," she continued, "And the DG agreed that if I – the person who knew you, your past, your motives – would we willing to take responsibility for your detainment, I could become part of the enquiry. As I said, I've sided with the Home Secretary in order to make sure you're not deported. And the sole reason I've done that is because, frankly, you're good at your job." She smiled honestly. "You're possibly the best Section Head MI5 has ever had and the country needs you."

_Finally_, after so much fixed solitude and perplexity, he sensed somewhere at the back of his mind an spark of relief. Of understanding and gratitude. Someone somewhere had relit the candle he long thought had been blown out.

"You see, in this job Harry, we make a lot of enemies. But we make a lot of friends too. Call me what you like but I think it's fair to say that, here and now, you can consider me your friend."

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_**I know that wasn't particularly eventful, but I needed to make the plot concrete. Thanks for sticking with it.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Again – thank you to all who have read and reviewed the previous chapters.**_

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When Ruth voiced 'Juliet Shaw' to her onlookers, no-one raised an eyebrow. Not even Alec.

Dimitri, who had ascertained the photo in the first place, asked if having this Ms. Shaw as the leader of the enquiry was going to work in Harry's favour. Ruth decided she didn't know, and instead left to take the information to the Home Secretary.

His is initial reaction was one of genuine shock at the fact Section D had uncovered 'the uncomfortable truth.' And despite being slightly fractious as well as confused, the words that fell from his mouth were, '_Harry said you were good_.' Ruth managed to contain the smile before the Home Secretary explained to Ruth exactly what Juliet had explained to Harry.

"Juliet's _defending_ Harry?" she quizzed immediately after he'd finished – the shards of glass in her mind still not piecing together. "Sorry, we are talking about the same Juliet Shaw here aren't we?"

The older man laughed. "Yes Ruth. She's a very valuable asset to have onside. She can be lethal when she wants to be." At least that much was true.

"And you trust her?"

"Of course I trust her," he snapped, features sharpened. "Harry will be back on the Grid by next week if Juliet has anything to do with it."

Something that wasn't quite words forced themselves up her throat; she ended up gasping only slightly – an action he took as thankfulness. After eventually coming to terms with the beautiful realisation, Ruth swallowed and knew then that she might be able to sleep that night. In her line of work she had learned never to trust promises, and this was the first time in years she had actually overlooked that knowledge.

Before she left, she asked gently, "Why didn't you tell me Juliet was involved?"

He deflated slightly with an anxious sigh. "Because she requested that her position be kept secret."

"Why?"

"Self interest. Protection. There's always someone out there with a mind to find problems where there aren't any."

"They're called the press."

He chuckled with a nod, "I was thinking of someone closer to home."

"Oh?"

"No-one specific. Harry's a good man in our eyes... but he has plenty of enemies. The more friends he can get, the better."

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"So, what happens now?"

Harry placed the empty glass back on Juliet's desk and sat back awaiting the next chapter of the bizarre story of which he seemed to be the main character.

"Now you wait for the all clear. As long as the enquiry are aware that I'm still in control and there's no chance of you escaping to a foreign country, you should be back on the Grid within the week. The fact that you gave Albany away was definitely a poor move on your part, but against the fact that it was actually a fake, you saved an officers life _and_ your dedication to the service over the years... well, I think that's enough to get you out of this one."

There was a silence as she watched his face take in the best news for weeks. His eyes were instantly brighter.

"What about interrogation?" He asked with a slightly raspy voice (the pain in his stomach had faded, but it was there none the less.)

"What about it?"

"Come on Juliet." His head fell to one side as he stared deadpan, "Ok, maybe you're not calling it an interrogation as such, but you know what I mean. No-one except you has spoken to me since this whole thing began."

Through a sigh she huffed 'alright.' _Dam his inquisition!_ Why was it she could always come up tops yet still he knew the questions to bring her down again?

"This afternoon" She answered. "Ernest will be your int - "

"_Ernest?"_

"Yes."

"Ernest is thug who thinks he can beat the answers out of anyone he likes. There's no way you're going to allow him first go at me Juliet! No way!"

What she saw was pale, authentic panic etched precisely into his features. His reaction reminded her somewhat of his behaviour during the Shining Dawn affair when, under Adam Carter's observation, he had accused her of blackmail. Now of course it did not alter her in any way at all; no anger resurfaced, no mind of contemplation or regret.

"I can't control everything Harry," she didn't meet his blazing eyes.

"You can control this!"

"No. No, I can't. If I interfere any more you'll stand no chance of surviving the enquiry. There has to be an interrogation and Ernest has to be the commanding officer. DG's orders. I can't go over his head Harry, you're lucky that I'm even here. I'm sorry."

That was the moment Ernest opened the door and strode in, obviously having heard at least the last few heated remarks exchanged between the two ex-colleagues. His rough hand grasped Harry's bicep tightly and pulled the spook upwards simultaneously stretching the battered stomach muscles that pulsated under the bruised skin. It happened in a moment too quick to protest. Just before he was lead out of the door, Juliet spoke quietly,

"Ernest, be gentle with him. He doesn't deserve punishment."

Whether he embraced the command or dismissed it, they couldn't tell.

* * *

_**More soon.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A few more chapters I think. Thanks for following, those who are. And sorry about the lack of updates!**_

* * *

Harry was not dragged back to his cell. Tiredly, he obeyed Ernest's orders to walk where instructed. When they reached the second concrete frozen corridor, he was blindfolded and pushed forwards with tight new handcuffs squeezing his wrists, holding his arms behind his back. An unnecessary control; he was hardly in a position to fight back. Ernest was abusing his authority and it was this fact that resulted in Harry despising him beyond the point of return.

He heard a ship like door being unlocked and opened, it squeaked and created an amazing echo to the revealed room as it hit the back wall. Blinded in black, Harry stumbled in knowing little more of where he was except that the room was big, metal and probably empty.

Ernest pushed him forward, closed the door before joining him and then leading him to a chair. Harry sat heavily as the blindfold was ripped off and instantly the fluorescent bulb blasting splintering light into his eyes took effect. Squinting did little to prevent the brutality so he turned his head away as Ernest watched. Neither spoke. They just waited. Interogation changed little over the years.

After about three minutes Harry could open his eyes nearly fully. But still he sat rigid and frightened. Mainly due to the fact that there was literally nothing to give up. Reasons, yes, but if Juliet had stated her knowledge of the affair then surely Ernest knew the same. It seemed logical to presume that.

"Well," Ernest maintained his position behind Harry, burly arms folded, "This is shouldn't take long."

"You're right, it shouldn't." He would not let the nerves rupture his voice. "You know everything there is to know."

"I'd like to explore the reasons in more detail."

"Reasons for what?"

He closed in, slipped a large hand around Harry shoulder and squeezed hard. It hurt more than Harry would accept. His collar bone was already sore after being man handled this way. So, as a result of training, he focused on a single point ahead in the darkness and forced himself to believe there was no hand and there was no pain, which ultimately saved him no grief whatsoever. The claws tightened and his bones just ached. And ached.

"If you're going to avoid the questions," Ernest snarled into his ear, "Then you should expect to get hurt."

Teeth gritted, Harry growled back.

"With someone like you as my interrogator I expect to get hurt anyway. You're an animal who relishes the agony of innocents."

"Is that how you'd describe yourself? Innocent?" His hand fell away as he paced around to face the drained man. His figure blocked the light – a fact for which Harry momentarily was grateful.

"Hardly." With strived effort Harry raised his pounding head. He would retain dignity. Despite everything, he'd made a pact with himself that he would always retain dignity to the end if it were possible. Ernest cocked his head to one side, surprised that his victim had given an answer which correlated exactly with his own. Harry continued either bravely or stupidly, "How could I ever call myself innocent; I've killed people. I've had to - I'm a spy. If this is about innocence, you're not going to get a lot out of me."

There was a long pause as he watched the black air heat up before Ernest cracked the most terrorizing smile.

"Good job it's not about innocence then."

* * *

When Ruth returned to the Grid, the enquiry staff had gone.

She paced in slowly – cautiously – though not entirely sure as to why. Tariq soon met her before she reached her desk, wearing the dustings of a smile. She glanced at Beth, also holding an air of content about her. They didn't catch eyes but she sensed a change. A positive change.

"Ruth, Robert Bringham just came onto the Grid but you weren't here." Tariq explained as she took off her coat.

"What did he say?"

"He told us Harry should be back within the week. The enquiry's nearly over."

Ruth nodded, keen not to squeal or even lift a smile. Ever the professional. She felt Beth's eyes fall to her face.

"Yes, the Home Secretary told me the same." She explained, "Juliet Shaw is actually defending Harry; I know that doesn't mean a great deal to you two, but believe me that's a good thing."

There was a silent sweep of liberation that painted the Grid for all who understood. There was hope in the empty glass igloo, there was anticipation circling in the air. Ruth sat and suddenly realised it was the first time she'd done so at ease in weeks. But Beth, looking decidingly edgy, leaned across.

"They shouldn't be treating him like this." But why she thought Ruth would be able to offer specific resolutions, she didn't know. The analyst turned on her computer with a sigh.

"I know. But it's nearly over now. Just as long as there isn't a surprise interrogation sprung upon him, he'll be fine." They shared a brief fractured smile before attempting to return their minds to the country's current threats, knowing nothing of the suffering being inflicted upon the man they thought was safe.

* * *

_**I'm not torturing Harry for the sake of it - there's a plot in here somewhere... promise! Revewis mean the world :)**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Thanks again :) Reveiws were lacking a little for the last chapter. Have I failed you all? Apologies if it was naff :/**_

* * *

The following night.

He was convinced now that it was the black air that was inflicting the pain. He saw nothing, just absence of light; an absence of understanding and proximity to the walls and his interrogator. Each point impaired on his body would scream, the nerves burning and bordered with a consistent relentless aching. Electrocution was not a new method of interrogation, he knew what to expect and where to expect it. The only thing he could not understand was how his body would feel as if it were eating itself, yet somehow, his heart continued to beat.

Two large electrodes were attached solidly to his temples. After having been made to peel off the top of the jumpsuit, he sat blandly exposed to the room; two more were stuck to his chest and a further one to the centre of his stomach.

After a while Ernest's demands had become dulled murmurs from the outside world. Harry had quickly become incinerated by agony so strong, thought itself became in disarray. He caught phrases including, 'Albany' which was too be expected. But through the shocks he also heard 'Undercover', 'Gung Mai' and 'mint blade' repeated more than once. Before he had time to insist his confusion, Ernest would turn a dial and shoot the rupturing bolts through the sweat painted body.

Harry only knew two things;

One; he was living a new hell.

And two; Ernest was not working on behalf of Juliet.

* * *

The only feature Ruth admired about the night was the fact that the air had a colour. And in that single colour of endless black, she could draw things; put pieces together, pictures and phrases. She saw what she needed to see because there were no distractions. On the night of her discussion with the Home Secretary she lay alone and still in her bed and began to watch the air for answers. Answers for the questions she could not stop from consuming her mind.

She started logically from the beginning; Lucas' death. The aftermath was thus Harry's enquiry. The isolation of Section D, and specifically Alec's comments regarding the unusually brutal nature of the whole thing. That was something she had not let slip her mind. She thought of Towers obligation to help that lead to her fleeting visit to Harry.

His unshaven jaw. His weak form. His lonely tired eyes and stance to match. Their kiss.

Then, she remembered Ernest.

There was something wrong with Ernest. Not only his attitude or brutality. He was a foreign man in the wrong place acting almost definitely of his own accord. He had throated torture, he had ripped her from the cell, from her and Harry's embrace. He had no obvious connection to Juliet. He was playing a role that did not belong to him. A guard of a senior head of MI5 that held no reputation, that no one recognised, that acted with such lack of respect she physically winced at the memory of his interruption.

In becoming tired, the pieces began to fade from the air. But before she succumbed to sleep, she silently decided that upon return to work in the morning, she would hunt for information on this man known as Ernest.

* * *

As coincidence would have it, the answers she had pledged to search for where readily delivered nearly as soon as she arrived on the Grid. It was Tariq. He'd come in early suffering from 'mild insomnia' and been running checks on Luton airport security, expecting a man known as Philip Bryhar - a known political extremist that had been under Section D's radar for months. It was Ruth who saw him as she approached to welcome good morning to Tariq - there he was on the screen, the man she falsely knew as Ernest, staring. He had longer hair and an unshaven face but she knew even through poor CCTV focus, it was him. In that moment she felt the world freeze.

"Ruth, hi," Tariq began before actually looking at her. "You ok?"

She didn't speak. She couldn't speak.

He followed her eyes to the screenshot. "Erm... yeah, Philip Bryhar, the guy we've been looking for for waaaay too long?" Tariq explained obliviously, "He entered the country three weeks ago. I don't know how I missed it before. It's only a coincidence that I've found him now actua-"

"That's not Philip Bryhar."

Taken a back, he frowned before bringing up another window. There displayed were the files, all the files, on Bryhar. Years worth of intelligence. She scowled,

"No... that's not him. That can't be him."

Tariq did a double take then asked,

"Ruth what's going on?"

Dimitri entered the Grid and magnetised immediately towards them. He said nothing, sensing the tort air.

Ruth spluttered, "That man there, he's... he's with Harry. He's Harry's guard at the detention centre. I met him, I spoke to him."

Tariq stared wide eyed.

"What's his name?"

"Ernest. He's called Ernest." Then their eyes finally crashed together. "Unless..."

Dmitri took a sharp breath inwards, dropping his coat to the chair and diving into the open space to squint at the screen. In looking the man over he could see all he needed; the thug, Ernest or Philip, was a liar. A traitor. He knew not to act at face value but sometimes you could tell, _sometimes, the answers would scream at you._

"Ruth," he stood straight and took in her now white face, "We should get down to the detention centre. If you're absolutely sure it's him..."

"I'm positive Dmitri. That man is using a false identity, and if he's with Harry... my God..." _Bite the tears! Bite the tears!_ Her eyelids forced themselves shut as beads of water began to appear in the corners. "He's not safe."

They left swiftly and silently despite the fact that Ruth was bordering on hysterics.

_I knew something was wrong from the off_, she gritted her teeth, _why did I do nothing?_

The prospect of them arriving too late did not fail to present itself to the front of their minds.

* * *

_**More soon.**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Rounding up soon :) Indeed, poor Harry! :S**_

* * *

Juliet had gone to visit Harry's cell in the morning and was more than surprised to find it empty. At the absence of Ernest also, she presumed him to still be within containment. That was all she really needed; to be sure he had not escaped. She returned to her room without a second thought.

* * *

Harry had lost the ability to stand. He had lost the ability to hear, to see, to feel anything but pain. For the first time in many years he began to remember what it felt like to crave death. Tortured ruthlessly through the night, Ernest had not left his side and had never ceased to demand answers about a Chinese operation unknown to Harry. Water-boarding followed electrocution. Terror. Anguish. Terror. Anguish. Never ending. Eternally incinerating.

* * *

Ruth and Dmitri spoke little in the car, simultaneously reserving all energy for the moment they found Harry and - presumably - Ernest. She had learnt to accept that when nothing made sense, it was better to leave it that way. Emotions did little for her brain. She let them erupt, she let herself sob quietly, she let her knuckles whiten in gripping the car door handle. _Ten minutes until Sanderstead_. Ten minutes. Just ten minutes.

* * *

Despite the false sense of awareness, Harry was conscious enough to know that he was on the floor again, on his side. His hands were not bound. At some point during the torture something had collided with his right shoulder. A boot, a metal pole, a wooden plank, a gun handle... he didn't know. He'd never know. Certain it was either dislocated or broken he decided to ignore the urge to retaliate; in the chaos it seemed his brain and physical condition would no longer communicate. He wanted to stand, to shout, to land a fist in his controllers muscles - his frantic mind demanding that he did so. But reality kept him frozen to the ground. Lifeless and painted in blood.

* * *

"This way!" Dimitri pelted after Ruth as they entered the centre entance. As expected, three guards pushed themselves forward to stop them immediately, wide eyed. Dimitri concealed his gun.

"Who the hell are you?" One man asked, eyeing the intruders from head to foot, then looking past to check behind them.

"I work for Juliet Shaw," Ruth insisted but did not provide any identification. "This is my colleague Daniel Marks. We need to speak to Miss Shaw urgently. It's about the MI5 officer you're holding here." A rare moment dashed across her mind; the fact that half of her explanation was actually true. The dead eyes did not falter,

"Got any I.D?"

"She knows who I am. Please, we have to speak to her!" She barked, Dimitri struggling to hold back the urge to shoot.

"I cannot allow you to pass without any formal identification."

"Oh for God sake! My name is Ruth Evershed; contact Juliet and tell her that Ruth Evershed needs to speak to her urgently!"

A moment, then he obliged. Annoyance spread across his face when he received the command on the other end of the phone; this, Ruth read easily and prepared herself for the next hurdle.

"Follow me."

* * *

Two needles had already broken the surface of his skin, along with various other instruments over night. So when the third came he simply embraced the sting as a sign that he was still alive. Just. Ernest had crouched down to Harry's level and slipped the thin metal prod into the back of his neck, swiftly and quietly without expecting a forceful reaction. Harry groaned and his left arm rose but did not reach anymore than five centimetres off the ground before it fell.

"Thiopentone," Ernest noted, standing upright and returning the needle to it's metal tray on the other side of the room. "It's a wonderful thing."

"... tr..." Harry's breath broke away.

A dark chuckle escaped Ernest. "Sorry? What was that? Didn't quite catch that Harry."

"... Tru... truth drug. Thiopen... its... truth..."

"A truth drug? Yes, almost," he crept forward to stand at Harry's feet. "I can't imagine it will have you spluttering _every _state secret you know, but if you don't start telling me about Mint Blade, this pain will only get worse. Stop fighting it Harry, we both know this is beyond the enquiry," he commanded, "You know you want to tell me. You want to be anywhere but here. You want to see your team again. You want to see Ruth Evershed. I can let you go but you have to co-operate with me."

There stood the silence again as his green eyes fixed to the heaving bloodied mass on the floor. Harry couldn't picture Ruth's face, but he could hear her voice. And it told him to hold on.

"I don't... I don't know. Mint blade... I haven't heard of... I've told you-" a sharp cough split up his throat, "I don't know..."

"If you stop lying, I can let you go."

"Fuck you."

The animal laughed.

"Your loss."

The boot met the ribs.

* * *

_**I just had an idea. More soon. Thank you for all reviews that have kept this going!**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**And all comes to light. Thank you for the reviews re last chapter.**_

* * *

"Ruth? Mr. Levendis... what are y - "

"Juliet!" Ruth practically threw herself at the gaping woman. The whole atmosphere changed; the room turned blue. Hearts raced, sweat showered. "Where's Harry? Where is he!"

She stood looking her abrupt company over never ceasing to frown. Shocked, but not shaken. Never shaken.

"He's in interrogation. Why?"

"Who's his interrogator?" Dimitri ordered pressing forward, eyes fixated.

Juliet shook her head, spluttering faintly at such sudden chaos. She stood from her desk, squared to them. "What do you want?"

"Juliet," Ruth hammered the words into the stone faced woman, "If Harry is with the man you know as Ernest then he's in serious danger. Ernest is a double agent; his real name is Philip Bryhar. We need to find him – now!"

"How in God's name did you come to that conclusion?" She cried now angered, but still oblivious, "That's impossible!"

"Why would I lie about this? For Christ sake – skip the convenient logic and listen to what I'm saying to you. Harry is in grave danger. Bryhar has been using a false identity to interrogate a senior British intelligence officer." Her grey pools began to glass over and she struggled to prevent her voice from cracking. "Do you even know what methods he's using on Harry?"

And then, Juliet looked stunned. For the first time in many years she felt an outside dominance take over - encase her – and somehow she succumbed to their desperosity.

"I have no idea," she replied regretfully. Ruth saw the change. The link was presented there and they held it together as if afraid to let go. It was something Dimitri could never see or understand; the mysterious and undeniable loyalty to Harry shared by the women who had loved him and who still did. Trust flowered in the moment Juliet dismissed her icy individuality. "But I know where they are," she stated, moving from her desk, "Come on."

* * *

Now there was silence. Menacing, out of place, dangerous silence that filled his ears as the last drops of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth down his chin to stain the clothing. The floor became comfortable because it meant he did not have to stand.

Uncaring of the questions and unable to answer anyway, Harry kept his eyes closed and waited for the tunnel of light to present itself. When it did, it looked more like a doorway than a tunnel.

"Ernest!" A terrified voice screamed, "STOP!"

And why was Juliet in heaven? He forced his eyes open. There it was. Juliet, Dimitri, Ruth; the answer, the saviour. He saw their figures, heard a gun shot, felt Ernest fall next to him. A hand slipped under his head and he thought it was Ruth... but she spoke as if underwater. A split second later, everything was gone.

* * *

_**More soon.**_


	11. Chapter 11

**_Lots of exclamation marks in the reveiws :P Haha! Thank you all the same :)_**

___Two weeks later._

He'd been in this situation before, and so had she. Only this time they had allowed her access to his ward on the basis of _extremely_ special circumstances.

She perched on the edge of his bed for the fourth time that week, watching as he began to wake from a light doze. His sleeping always gave her an opportunity to analyse his appearance; where the cuts were, where the bruises were. With his right arm in a sling he had found it nigh impossible to lay on either side comfortably and had admitted he was gladly anticipating returning to the Grid. His doctors, on the other hand, had stated other ideas.

As expected the enquiry had ground to a very abrupt halt. Certain there would now be an enquiry within the enquiry, Ruth did little in offering assistance to the people responsible for allowing Philip Bryhar to slip through the net. Harry was her first and only concern. He had been since Lucas jumped and he would be until she died. That had been decided, locked in a safe, and buried a thousand feet underground.

When he remembered where he was and noticed her presence, a smile that he had missed formed across her lips which he mimicked with his own. He had not forgotten their kiss in the cell and neither had she.

"Hi," she welcomed him back, squeezing his hand careful not to touch the marked wrists. He made an attempt to squeeze back whilst hating the fact that it had taken this to bring them closer.

"Hi," was his soft reply.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Umm... sore." He swallowed, "Ache everywhere. Bet I look like death don't I."

"You look a little better actually," she said, unable to help herself from picturing his state the day after his operation. "Now the swelling's gone down, and the cuts aren't so red." She eyed his restrained arm, "How's your shoulder?"

With a sigh, he flexed his fingers. "Can't move it."

The compassion shunted forward again. "Not at all?"

He tried again, wincing. "Not at all."

He had become a shadow. She had found herself wandering at one point whether, at his age, his bones would in fact ever heal at all.

"Here," she stood and leant for his pillow, "Sit up a bit - might be more comfortable."

Gradually he did and again had to do so through gritted teeth. The physical excursion of something as simple as sitting up was wearing him down, which worried Ruth more than it did himself. In his condition she saw everything she was frightened of; pain, vulnerability and tiredness.

She watched him sink back into himself.

"How are your stomach muscles?"

He scoffed. "What stomach muscles?"

"Harry..."

"The little I had little to start with have been firmly beaten into non-existence. It's just one large mass of bruised flesh I'm afraid." He smiled briefly, "Do y'know the nurse said that if I wasn't overweight, the beatings to my stomach may have actually caused internal bleeding. This could have been a hell of a lot worse."

Ruth caught herself smiling briefly too, as a result of the irony. "Did she say how long it'd take for the bruising to heal up?"

He shook his head, "No. Everyone's different. I'm just glad my legs are still working to be honest."

"So am I." There followed a pause; a contemplation of every other possibility. It frightened her so she quashed it quickly and said, "You could stay at mine y'know."

"I couldn't ask you to do that..." But he needed it, and in a sense so did she.

She smiled, "You haven't asked me for anything."

"I asked you to marry me."

He didn't know why he said it. Somehow, the words were at her ears before he'd seen them himself and the effect was obvious. She was burning red, the hot fragile wire between them was snapping. What was worse was that he couldn't find any words to redeem himself. The entire English language disintegrated in the moment the statement hit her. She was hurting because he'd said it, but also because she'd constantly avoided it until now where she didn't have a choice.

"Yes..." she squeaked eventually, "Yes. You did."

It seemed a logical thing to say, if a little distasteful.

"I'm sorry Ruth." That too was logical and in no way distasteful whatsoever. "I don't know why I said that."

"It's alright. You've had a pretty appalling few weeks; I can comprehend your rationality."

"Rationality." He repeated. "Yes."

"But erm, there's something I've been meaning to say actually. Something I decided, which frightens me, and I hate myself for it."

He raised a cut brow, "Oh?"

* * *

_**Next chapter is basically a direct continuation of this one. Up soon.**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Huge apology for the momentous gap between this chapter and the last. My only excuse is that real life appeared again. But thank you for all the reviews, they mean a lot.**_

_**Last chapter. I hate it to to be honest :/**_

* * *

His eyes locked to hers and realised she'd been staring intently at him. In all his vulnerability and complete isolation from the world, she saw there something impossible to deny; experience. It was from this, she concluded, that he was able to take hit after hit after hit and still stand. Emotional or physical, he could predict and therefore prepare. Whatever she was about to get herself into, she was confident he would bare it.

She continued, struggling somewhat, "I said no because... because I was frightened. And they say you only realise how important something is when it's gone. I didn't appreciate how true that was until I realised the enquiry wasn't what we thought, and you were in danger." Subconsciously her hand was holding his. He was warm and tense, eyes pushing into her for more. "At the prospect of losing you it hit me like a train. I just... it felt as if the world was falling. I don't think I've ever felt like that before. Even when George died... I didn't... I never grieved. I moved on like he was nothing to me because for some reason it was easy. But with you; one day of absence and I couldn't think. I fell to pieces." Finally, she lifted her gaze and met his, "What I said was wrong. About us being more together than we are now. That was wrong, I take it back, and if you still love me..." she saw his breath catch in his throat. A dusting of a smile on his cracked lips began to form, "If you still love me then ask me. Ask me again and I'll find the courage somewhere to say yes."

* * *

**_One week later._**

He had been asked to wait at home - alone - before the whole enquiry within the enquiry began again. With the sound of gentle rain for company, he pulled himself from his light doze at the sound of the doorbell.

His mind pleaded for his visitor to be the only person he hadn't stopped smiling over since leaving the hospital. When he opened the door and the rain began to dampen his clothes, he was surprised and a little disappointed that it was not Ruth who stood smiling back.

"Hi Harry." Beth greeted him, her umbrella close to collapsing under the weight of water it had collected.

"Beth? Hi. Come in."

They stood in his hallway awkwardly. It was clear she did not want to stay; she denied a drink. She asked of him – his arm, still a dead weight in a sling. And it turned out that was all she had visited for. Just to see how he was. There was nothing to report from the Grid apart from the fact that it had not become any easier without his leadership. He found himself warmed by her generosity in offering to help with anything he needed, and also, merely by the fact she had travelled to his house as a friend and not a colleague.

In leaving, her eyes fell to his free hand to which he followed her gaze and realised. But pretended he hadn't.

"Everything ok Beth?"

And if ever there was an expression to define 'the look' – what she gave him there and then was just that.

"I don't wish to err intrude or anything, even though I'm in your house, but I can't help noticing the... ring."

He smiled,

"Oh this old thing?"

She frowned. "I swear you never used to wear a wedding ring. I thought you were divorced."

"I was divorced once, yes."

_Was this some sort of test? _

"But..." she whispered.

"But?"

Then she silenced herself, and lifted her head to look directly at him. There the smile formed.

"Ruth was wearing a ring this morning..." she laughed, "Oh my... I knew it! I bloody knew it!" she beamed – a child on Christmas morning. "Dmitri owes me a tenner! _Yes_."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't worry Harry. We'll be sure to keep it a secret; you'd obviously prefer it that way."

"Beth - "

"When was the wedding? I thought you were in a detention centre, then hospital?" She didn't let him answer. "You've been a very busy bunny haven't you." Though why she likened Harry to a rabbit, she didn't quite know. "Congratulations. How did Ruth manage to keep _that_ a secret from _me_? See I wanted to say something before – as in, as soon as I joined. The chemistry between you two - "

"_Beth_." He chuckled, "Please. Thank you, but we'd like to keep it as quiet as possible. The Grid is chaotic enough with the whole enquiry affair still going. Like you said – I'd prefer it if you didn't add my and Ruth's marriage to the mix."

An obedient nod, and she began to leave. "Sure."

Just as she reached the front door, he said,

"So Dimitri owes you a tenner? What did you two bet on exactly?"

"Oh – he bet you'd get married in the next four months. I bet you'd both get married in the next two."

He couldn't find the words to express his surprise. Had it always been so blatantly obvious to everyone?

"... I err... I see."

She laughed. "Good job I didn't bet with Alec; he reckoned you'd get married the day after the enquiry."

"Well he was close enough." Harry admitted, smoothing his thumb over the shining gold, "It was the day I came out of hospital."

She opened the door, then her umbrella, before padding out into the rain once more wearing a fresh and honest smile as he stood to bid goodbye.

"I can't wait to tell her I know," Beth exclaimed to herself as she pulled her coat closer. "Am I to presume she'll be moving out of her flat soon then?"

He nodded shyly before she smiled to him and said,

"Every cloud has a silver lining."

Harry looked at his sling, then the ring. The pain, the love. He knew Ruth would always be his silver lining, whatever happened. The enemies of the enquiry that had set out the break them had only brought their friendship closer and at that, he silenty chuckled to himself in closing the door. Even in the gloom, the rain, the complete silence of his house, he saw the world as brighter everytime he looked at that ring.

And miles away at the Grid, as she sifted through a wall of paperwork, so did she.

* * *

_**END**_.


End file.
